


From Quiet, to Just, to Great

by Airen_Thiren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Braavos, Broken Stark family, Essos, F/M, Flawed R/L, More characters to be added, My First AO3 Post, Ned-centric, Not for Rhaegar and Lyanna Fans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rhaegar and Lyanna were foolish, There will be equal parts light and dark content, They must deal with consequences, They're good but ultimately human, Things won't be going smoothly for them, We're making Ned a King eventually, Yes I'm a Ned Stark fanboy, sue me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 18:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17065067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airen_Thiren/pseuds/Airen_Thiren
Summary: In which some must face the consequences of their actions, others make the best of a bad situation, and the world learns the folly of prophecy.





	1. Prologue - Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Everybody Wants to Rule The World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710791) by [KiriJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiriJones/pseuds/KiriJones). 



> This is a story examining quite a few what-ifs in the Game of Thrones universe. As such, some creative liberty will be taken where information is either lacking or non-existent. Some personalities may be tweaked to reflect events that happen before the story begins. I am a Ned Stark fanboy, but I will try to not make everything easy for him. Rhaegar and Lyanna are still technically good guys, they will simply be forced to deal with the consequences of their actions.

So often, history is written by the victors, and the victors are not always the good. That which is evil is painted as good. Those who are noble are slandered as liars and oath breakers. And the nameless thousands who perish in wars waged by greater men are remembered only by the earth, sea, and sky. The man who sacrifices his honor for the greater good is known only by a sneer. The woman who lies and cheats is only hailed as strong and admired. And the child who long ago lost much of his joy is remembered only as a paragon. History is so often written by the victors, but not always. Sometimes, when the evil or foolish win, the audience that is the world sees enough evil or folly to know the truth, and thus, that truth is remembered. Such is the history of King Rhaegar Targaryen, the Foolish Prophet.

He was hailed as the next great Targaryen king. A kind and gentle soul who, though more solemn than most, dealt in charity, honor, and wisdom equally. The small folk of King’s Landing loved him, for they knew him as the minstrel who rarely kept what he earned. The nobles of court admired him for his gentle, even words in comparison to his harsh, erratic father, the Mad King. It was remarked by those who knew him best that he had the makings of greatness even from an early age. And yet, Rhaegar, like all who admired him, is only mortal. Only human. And humans, no matter how wise, or kind, or great, will always make mistakes. And Rhaegar’s mistake would come at a grave cost, for him and many others. 

For it was his folly, his fixation on prophesy, that fractured a family. A family that held each other above all else but would soon cast out one of their own for the sake of healing a now divided realm. The banished would understand and, for the sake of his family, do what needed to be done, but the act would still haunt the family for days to come. Their realm would split, with many choosing to follow the banished one into exile. The land that they ruled would soon be more barren and emptier than it already was were it not for the words of the banished one. His words, remembered by all those who wished to join him, would soothe their ire at his family and further elevated him in the eyes of all those who considered themselves as friends to him.

And so it was, that Eddard Stark, the Quiet Wolf, sailed east. To never return, on punishment by death, he would sail across the Narrow Sea. Wishing nothing more than for his remaining family to be safe, he accepted the consequences of killing the Mad King. To Essos he would go, to make a new life there, though doing what, he did not know. He knew little of the future, or the crucial part he would play. He knew nothing of another who, remembering the moments they shared, would be joining him in his exile and would become his closest confidant and greatest love. Unknowing of those who admired his honor and nobility and would forsake family, positions, or oaths to follow him. But those few who either did not hear or heed his words would come to be his greatest friends and allies.

His exile would shake the Stark family. Brandon Stark, who many knew as the Wild Wolf, would soon come to be known as Brandon the Bitter. And bitter he would be, not only at his disfigured face, courtesy of Aerys, but also at his sister, who he partially blamed for starting the chain of events that led to the Fools’ Rebellion. Benjen Stark, the pup of the Stark siblings, would throw himself into the art of swordplay, becoming one of the greatest swordsmen in Westeros and a man of the Night’s Watch. Known by many as the Cold Sword, for his now stoic demeanor to many if not all people. Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf, would become Lyanna Targaryen, the second queen of King Rhaegar and his favored wife. Long would she harbor guilt for her rash and foolish decision that started a war and ended in her very nearly losing her family. 

And so our story begins. Shamed wolves, foolish dragons, and far to the north, a storm is brewing that will prove the folly of prophecy. For man makes his own fate, and nothing but the past is set in stone.


	2. Rocking the Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man contemplates his past and his fate. A woman lifts his spirits and his heart. They plan for a future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A word or caution: There is a scene of a violent nature in this chapter. People will die, but people we want dead anyway. You have been warned.

Chapter 1 – Rocking the Boat

**Ned Pov:**

The _Sparrowhawk_ moved through the waves with a gentle listing. Up and down from front to back, one would hardly notice the movement from another boat. However, to those on the ship, the movement was felt as clear as the cool sea breeze. Most of the sailors were glad for the gentle sea this day, as it meant faster travel and only that much closer to home. Home to most, save for one.

He sat below deck toward the stern, his long, sullen face a stark contrast to the cheery sailors above. The shadows of boxes and crates embraced him as one of their own. Whether his eyes were closed or open, it mattered little, such was the depth of the darkness he found himself in. But his present was a result of a different darkness, a different time. He remembered that day, eyes closed or open, he remembered every small thing. From the sounds of the siege outside…

_...to the feel of his sword in hand. That alone gave him the most comfort. His heavy heart beat with a cold fire as he strode through the cavernous halls. The burning smoke from the city outside permeated the quiet space with the scent of wood, stone, and blood-soaked steel, much like his own blade. Rounding the corner, he happened upon two men in dark robes. They were hurrying in another direction, but the armed man still caught enough of their conversation to decide their fate._

_“…must light the caches. Let the rebels burn with the city,” remarked one._

_“But, wildfire? We may very well perish with the rebels. I have no interest in dying,” the other cowered._

_“You’ll die either way tonight, better to take these rebels with us. Besides, we have no choice. The King commands it,” came the resigned reply._

_“You did have a choice,” the swordsman replied, his low, quiet voice seeming to pass like wind through their ears. Abruptly turning to the voice, the two stared in disbelief at the man, but in the tense silence, one made a simple observation that betrayed who was friend or foe._

_“Yo-Y-You’re a Stark man! How did you get…” his words drowned in blood that fell from his mouth as his neck was cut by the steel of the warrior’s blade. His fellow turned to run, but fell upon his back at the yank on his robes. A half-finished cry was the last sound he made as warm, wet metal was pushed through his torso, though his beating heart. The sword came loose with a tug, and the Stark man continued down the corridor from whence the two came._

_He’d been walking for not more than a couple minutes before a resounding boom of great doors closing met his silence. The clatter and creak of armor began shortly after, and the man, knowing that his next foe would not fall easily, hid in a behind an outset pillar. Though crude, the fog of siege warfare aided in the golden-haired man’s lax in attention. His white cloak billowed down the hall, and the other man emerged from his hiding place, dark gambeson and leather seemingly melting from the shadows. He prowled away from the knight to where he’d emerged. Slowing before the massive barrier before him, he thrust his leg forward and caved the doors away from him._

_And there, at the end of the room, sat a dragon, or rather, some one who fancied himself a dragon. Real, but long dead dragons watched with empty eyes as the man with a snarling wolf on his breast stalked toward the one who sat atop a pile of weapons wrought into a throne. Too late, the man on said throne realized he was trapped, but, whereas other men would cower and beg for their lives, this man was a dragon. And dragons don’t fear wolves. Descending down from his seat of power, the dragon-king charged for the wolf-man, claws extended and mouth open to burn his foe to ash, a poetic scene to be sure, but a scene only existing in the mind of an inbred cunt._

_The scene was shattered as the reality of warrior’s hand on the Mad King’s throat squeezed tight. But before the madman could slip into unconsciousness, he was hurled back toward his throne of useless swords. He scrambled to get up, but was once again brought low down by a swift kick to his back. Forcibly rolled over, he gazed fearfully at this man before him. A cry of fear escaped the monarch as the wolf on the man’s chest came to life and leaped from its perch. The fangs of the beast bit his neck, and a bladed tongue pierced his throat. As his life-blood seeped from its container, the wolf faded away, but the bladed tongue remained in the form of a sword grasped by the man with the wolf sigil._

_“The North remembers,” was the last thing the dying man heard, as his craven heart beat one final time._

_Then silence reigned once more. A time for contemplation, for solemn remembrance, if not for the still ongoing siege. A sudden impact shook the keep and the slaying wolf from his reverie. A memory of those connected as kin to the fallen king started a new fire in his killer’s heart. And Eddard Stark set out once more, his sword in hand…_

…as the sailors thundered below deck, bringing with them the raucous laughter at bawdy jokes that would cause many southerners to pale at the thought of such conversation. The sullen man in the stern cared little for the topic, as his stomach quivered inside of him. He would have risen to join his transporters, were it not for his situation. He knew he had to wait, for some one would come soon with food to sate his hunger and water to sate his dry throat. So once again, he closed his eyes, idly following the cheerful chatter of sailors eagerly traveling home.

Home, a cold place far away, that grew farther with each tilt and pitch of the ship. A home we would never see again, so long as a dynasty remained. And remain it would, even furthered by his own blood. Such an irony the gods played, that his sword brought an end to a king, only for his blood to produce the same man’s descendants. Eddard glared into the dark at the bitter twist of fate that would have led to his blood either spilling or freezing. Spilled it likely would have been, were it not two violet eyes that shone in the torch light, a hand that beckoned him out his blackened cell, and a soft voice saying, _“I won’t sit by and watch as a good man is killed for punishing evil.”_

“Ned…” the voice came again, barely above a whisper. 

“I’m here,” he spoke at the dim light from the open door. A woman walked in, her small lamp only lighting up her face just enough that her purple eyes could be seen gazing at him in pity, and something else. Lamp in one hand, she moved to set a covered tray on the crate he’d been using when he sought sleep. Unveiling a stew and a cup of water, she stood before him. 

“The captain says we’re making good time, we should arrive in the next day or two,” his companion relayed. She took the water and gave it to him. The cool liquid tasting like the finest wine to him after nearly a whole day without. A soft breath escaped his now wet lips in satisfaction. His companion, after passing the stew to him, continued telling him of the near future as heard from another. “He asks you to wait here after they’ve docked, and he’ll fetch us that night. From there, he’ll bring us to an inn owned by a close friend of his. He guarantees we’ll be safe there.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he whispered, before resuming his consumption of his small meal. A moment of stretched silence prompted him to look upon his traveling companion and liberator. She returned his look, eyes shining with that same unknown he had noticed ever since that fateful night.

“I thought we were past that, Ned,” she quipped, her hand lying on his shoulder. 

“Of course. Sorry…Ashara…Ash,” he corrected. Her soft smile at his correction led to him quirking his lips gently as he spooned more of the brew into his mouth. His own soft smile faded as he realized something. “How will you explain you’re absence when you return?”

“I won’t.” That answer hit him as though Robert had just clapped him on his back. He whipped his head to stare at Ashara incredulously. Lilac pools stared back at his silver ones, unashamed pride at her decision shining through. A whirlpool of emotions followed his shock. Humility, gratefulness, shame, terror, concern, all swirled violently beneath his shock-widened eyes. He wanted to curse, to shout, to try and convince her to go, but all he could manage was a simple question.

“Why?” he asked. “Why stay with me? I can offer you nothing. You would exile yourself from your family, your friends. Why, Ashara?” came his whispered plea for answers.

An answer came, though not in words. The hand that rested on his shoulder slid up his neck to rest on his cheek. Her soft thumb brushed beneath his eye, causing it and its pair to close on reaction, relishing the gentle caress. Before he could open his eyes once more, he felt her soft lips join his own. Stiffening at first, he relaxed and, casting his now empty bowl aside, wound his arms around her waist. He pulled her closer, holding her to him. The feel of her lips sliding against his own was just as heavenly as that night long ago, beneath melted stone and by torchlight. 

When they separated, Ned bowed his head to her, their foreheads resting on one another. 

“That you would choose me, a second son, and now an exile…I…” he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“I chose you long before that, dearest Ned,” she whispered to him. “I chose you at Harrenhall, when you thought yourself below any other man I danced with that night. I chose you, when I helped smuggle Bran out of the city. I continued to choose you as I spied for you in King’s Landing. I chose you when I opened that secret passageway, and I chose you when I opened your cell door. I will always choose you, Ned,” she finished, her violet eyes almost glowing with her passion. Moved by her words, Ned saw his vision cloud beneath a clear, liquid film. Blinking away the tears threatening to fall, he hugged her as close as he could. 

“I love you, Ashara Dayne,” he whispered once again. He felt her wide smile upon his neck at his own declaration, and her arms wound themselves tight around his shoulders. 

“And I love you, Eddard Stark.”

They stayed like that for a time, though neither could say how long. It was Ashara who pulled away first, but only just. Her elated smile calming slightly. “We arrive in Braavos soon, from there, we have all of Essos before us,” she breathed into the air between them. Ned’s own smile fell a small measure at the last words.

“What will we do for work, Ash? We have no money,” he whispered back, voicing his biggest concern of his solitude, now both of theirs. Aye, he had given it thought, but the furthest he got was to either become a sellsword and fight not for honor but money, or to offer his services as an assistant, or bodyguard, to some rich landowner or official. But Ashara only smiled, seeming to already have cause to not be worried.

“The captain’s friend will be in need of someone to help manage the inn’s less-than-savory patrons, and I do know how to cook and clean, contrary to most highborn ladies,” she finished with a smirk. Ned chuckled softly; of course the Dornish woman knew how to care for herself. Said Dornish woman giggled gently, before sighing in satisfaction as Eddard pressed another kiss to her smiling lips.

“I should go,” she whispered against his lips. He reluctantly released his hold on her, and she rose from the crate they’d been using as a loveseat. Picking up the discarded bowl, spoon, and cup and placing them on the tray, she leaned back down and placed another kiss to Eddard’s dark hair. “Sleep, my love,” requested Ashara. Taking the tray, she made for the door. “I’ll return tomorrow. Good night,” she whispered just loud enough before shutting the door with a soft click.

Gazing softly at the door, Eddard lied back on the crates and shut his eyes, a smile on his lips and a heart buoyed by the knowledge that he would not be alone in an unknown city. He had a plan, a simple one, but one he could follow for as long as he wished. With those thoughts and the ghost of Ashara’s lips on his, he fell asleep, the listing of the ship rocked him gently away from consciousness. He dreamt not of wars or sieges, but of a night filled with merriment and dancing, followed by an evening stroll beneath the stars with two more gazing at him from behind a smiling face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a bit of creative liberty was taken with Robert's Rebellion. More on that will be filled in as the story progresses. And yes, I know that the highborn ladies of Westeros weren't likely to know how to cook or clean, but I figured at least a couple of them wanted to learn anyway. Next chapter takes us to King's Landing, where we see the aftermath of a king's death.


	3. Long Live the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A knight observes the end of a rebellion, but one rebel has made a name for himself. A king must choose a punishment for the one who did that which he was unwilling or unable to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys. I offer no excuse other than sheer laziness.

**Jaime POV:**

Honestly, you'd think that rebelling against a Mad King would merit some measure of forgiveness. And yet, as he watched the prisoners being dragged before the Iron Throne, Jaime Lannister doubted that they'd receive much. In truth, he admitted to himself, the fact that they were still alive could be considered an act of mercy. Robert Baratheon, strong man that he was, looked like nothing more than a peasant from Flea Bottom in his current state. His long, black hair was disheveled, his clothes were stained from blood, mud, and whatever shit was in his cells, and his normally rambunctious, loud voice was entirely absent as he was pushed to floor before a mountain of melted swords. 

"Get your hands off me, you fucking dolts. I know the bloody procedure!" 

Well, almost absent.

"You will be silent before the king," Jon Connington bellowed. Jaime could've swore he saw a small smile on the lord's face as he raised his voice at his liege lord. Whether or not the lord of Griffin's Roost took pleasure at the current situation was irrelevant as he continued on. "Robert Baratheon, you stand accused of treason. You raised your banners and marched against the crown. You raised arms against the king and nearly killed him at the Trident. It is fortunate that you did not, as then you'd certainly be facing the executioner's block!" Connington finished. He looked as though he was going to continue on, but Rhaegar interjected.

"I think my cousin knows exactly what the situation is, Lord Connington," Rhaegar cut in quickly. The Hand of the King, having been subtly chastised, nodded and stepped away from the prisoner.

"Lord Robert Baratheon, while it is true that you raised your banners against the crown, you claim it was because an injustice was committed against your house. As such, you will not be put to death." Jon's head whipped to the king. Jaime was surprised his neck didn't break itself.

"But treason should never go unpunished." Rhaegar continued. "You will be stripped of your place in the line of succession, and of your lordship. Your brother, Stannis, will be the new Lord of Storm's End with your other brother, Renly, standing to inherit before you, after any heirs Stannis produces." 

“You’d rob me of my wife, and now my TITLES!?” Robert shouted, his face turning red with rage.

"I'd punish you for trying to kill me. Bear that in mind, my lord." Rhaegar growled. The silence that followed was deafening. Jaime saw a couple of his brothers shift, ready to draw their swords at a moments notice. Rhaegar and Robert glared at one another, neither willing to break before the other. It was Rhaegar who broke the silence, but not the staring match he was engaged in.

"You are dismissed, Lord Baratheon." Two guards slowly made to unchain Robert, each wary of the man that was currently bound in shackles. The sound of chains unlocking and being carried away was the only sound to be heard. Robert stood, still glaring at Rhaegar, before he turned and marched out of the throne room, the tense silence shattering as the doors slammed shut. 

Rhaegar sighed audibly, though from relief or exasperation, Jaime couldn't tell. Though at his next command, the young knight thought it had more to do with a hard decision he had to make.

"Bring Lord Eddard Stark," came the wary order. Two Targaryen soldiers immediately left the room, as court began to whisper amongst themselves. Whether regarding what had just transpired or at what was to come, Jaime did not care. His own thoughts wandered back to that night, where he had failed his charge, and gladly.

He still did not know how the young Lord had gotten inside the Red Keep. Jaime, as the only Kingsgaurd remaining in the city had personally ensured that all entrances and passageways to the keep were guarded with at least six men. There should have been no way for Lord Eddard to get in, and yet somehow he did. Jaime had overheard some of the gold cloaks saying Eddard Stark had used magic to enter unseen. They'd even nicknamed him the Ghost Wolf. Jaime did not know how Ned entered the Red Keep and killed Aerys, but he knew magic played no part in it. Frankly, a part of him wanted to thank Lord Stark, for saving his honor. He'd been en route to kill the pyromancers, only to find them dead in the halls, he'd then probably kill the king himself for all he knew. But...

The bells began to ring in earnest. Not the steady, even tone of ceremony, but an uneven, alarming rhythm of a danger or alert. Jaime had heard those bells before, when his father's army had lay seige to King's Landing, the same night Aerys was killed. Many in court began to look to one another, wondering aloud in worry. Was it another seige? Had the newly freed Robert Baratheon found a sword? No one knew, until one of the soldiers sent to retrieve Lord Eddard from the Black Cells came running in. He quickly stopped and knelt before the Iron Throne.

"My King, the prisoner has escaped! We found his cell empty, and his guards were dead!" Rhaegar's reaction was immediate.

"Seal the city! No man is to leave King's Landing until he is found!" Maybe there was some merit to the Ghost Wolf after all. After dismissing the court, Jaime, Arthur, Rhaegar, and Grand Maester Pycelle immediately made their way to the Black Cells. They arrived at the entrance to find the guards sprawled on the floor, unmoving.

"Grand Maester, see to them at once," Rhaegar barked. A group of guards that had followed set about putting their comrades onto stretchers and moving them to Pycelle's study, the old man shuffling behind them. Jaime opened the door leading to the black cells. It creaked open and spilled a small amount of light unto a set of stairs that wound down into a pitch black void. Arthur grabbed a torch off the wall, and the trio descended down into the dark. Arthur, holding the torch, was the first to arrive at Lord Eddard's cell.

The door had been left open, but it seemed as though no one had actually been inside the cell for days. After Ned Stark was arrested, he was thrown into the black cells and left there until Rhaegar decided what to do with him. Whoever was giving him food would surely have noticed when it went untouched, meaning that Ned Stark hadn't been gone more than a day, maybe two if a guard was lax with his duties. Jaime looked around the empty cell and saw the chains on the wall were unlocked. The only key that could have unlocked those chains lay on the ground next to them. He voiced that which filled him with a new unease.

"Eddard Stark had help." 

* * *

**Elia's POV:**

To say that the past few days were eventful would be putting it mildly. Honestly, Elia was just glad to be alive at this point. Her and her children were alive, even if Rhaenys was now waking in the night from nightmares. Nightmares that Elia blamed a few people for. She blamed these people for many events of the recent rebellion, her husband being chief among them. Could he even be called her husband anymore? 

She'd been informed of the annulment not even a day after the siege was broken. After providing him with two healthy children, at the risk of her own life, this is how he treated her? Casting her aside for a woman already betrothed. She'd met Lyanna Stark when she arrived in King's Landing, heavy with child. Elia hadn't felt such anger before in her life. Oh, how she wanted to cut that child out of her and bash it's head on the wall. Her rage at Lyanna was cooled somewhat when she saw the look in the girl's eyes. A deep shame was trapped in her gaze as she looked at some of the wounded, dirty, and tired soldiers that wandered the grounds of the Red Keep. Elia doubted she'd ever forgive Lyanna for agreeing to marry an already married man, but to see that the girl felt some measure of guilt for what her choices caused made Elia feel a little bit better.

She was still angry, but she would take no action against the Stark girl. Her husband was a different matter entirely.

_Elia burst into the solar, her orange dress flowing behind as she marched to where Rhaegar sat at his desk, calmly writing letters to be sent to only gods know where. At the sound, he looked up to see his former wife marching toward him with a furious look on her usually kind face. His fearful gaze was quickly turned to one of shocked pain, as the back of her clapped him across the face. He brought his own hand to his stinging cheek, checking to see if her long nails had drawn blood, as Elia Martel lay into him with the fury of a scorned, Dornish woman._

_"You damn, stupid shit! Not only did you break our marriage without so much as a word to me, you also married a girl who was already BETROTHED TO YOUR COUSIN! Do you have any idea what you caused? What almost happened to me and OUR CHILDREN?" she screeched. Rhaegar looked at her once more, though now the red handprint on his cheek seemed to have him looking at her in a new light._

_"I told you before, Elia, the..."_

_"'The dragon must have three heads.' Shut up for once about your fucking prophecies of the future and look at the now. In fact, look at the past few months while you're at it. Your obsession with this prophecy nearly ruined your family! It nearly destroyed our children!" Elia raged. "Did you know that Rhaenys now has nightmares every night? That she keeps screaming for her FATHER to save her?"_

_"I did not," Rhaegar replied, his eyes cast down at his desk, at half-written words and messages._

_"No, I doubt you did. You've been so attentive to your new wife that you've been neglecting your own children. Some father you are," she sneered at him._

_"What does she dream of?" Rhaegar asked. It seemed as though that was the wrong thing to say, as Elia slapped his other cheek. She turned and stalked where a jug of wine sat on a table next to a set of goblets. She poured herself some of the dark liquid and downed it all in one go. As she poured herself some more, she asked something that confused Rhaegar._

_"What do you plan to do with Tywin Lannister?" Her voice, which was once filled with fury, was now slow and venomous, as though saying his name would cause him to fall dead at her feet._

_"I do not know. He besieged the city, but then ordered his men to stand down when I arrived in his camp. He's been helping me rebuild the city and has even offered to pay for the damages he caused. 'A Lannister always pays his debts,' he told me," Rhaegar explained, wary of another attack from the woman who nursed a goblet of wine not far from him. Said woman laughed wryly, her anger still clear to see._

_"Make sure nothing is left better than he found it," she hissed. "Orders take time to reach soldiers, Rhaegar, and the whole realm thought you were dead at the Trident. You may trust him if you want, but house Martel will never trust the Lannisters," she warned. Sighing, she asked a final question of her former lover._

_"What happens to me and the children?"_

_"The children will retain their place in the line of succession. Our marriage is annulled, but you are free to choose what to do. Either you stay in King's Landing to raise your children or return to Sunspear, alone," he clarified. Elia scoffed, as if she'd let a girl raise her children, let alone one who stole her husband._

_"Then I'm staying."_

And that was that. She would remain in the Red Keep, but she would not be a part of court. Not if she had to share space with Lyanna Stark. The girl seemed to make herself right at home in the Red Keep, and Elia made it a point to avoid her no matter where she went. Her former ladies-in-waiting took her cue, and they had all returned home to Dorne. All save for her friend, Ashara Dayne.

The woman was truly a blessing these past few days. She kept Elia informed about what was going on in court and who was being punished or rewarded. It was only today when Ashara had not come to inform Elia about anything that was happening in court, which the Martel Princess found odd. Today was supposed to be the final day of the consequences of Robert's rebellion. Elia had heard how Robert Baratheon was stripped of his position as the Lord of Storm's End. She shook her head at that. Rhaegar was too forgiving sometimes. 

"Mommy," came Rhaenys' little voice. The little girl waddled over to Elia, who smiled and picked up her little princess. "Where Aunt Ash?" the little girl asked, big brown eyes looking into her mother's. 

"I know not, little one. Shall we go find her?" Elia cooed, setting the little royal down as she excitedly yelled, "Yes, find. Find."

The mother and daughter made their way through the red halls to where Lady Ashara Dayne had chosen to stay. They opened the door to find the room empty, the bed made, and everything looking as though it was just cleaned. Puzzled, Elia entered the room, as Rhaenys scuttled to where Ashara kept a few toys for her to play with whenever she visited. As her daughter played with her toys, Elia wandered the empty room, puzzled at her friends disappearance. It wasn't like her friend to suddenly vanish. The two had been nearly inseperable since Ashara had fostered with her family at Sunspear. It was on her inspection of Ashara's bedside table when she saw the letter. It wasn't sealed with her usual four-pointed star stamp that she used for everything. There was no stamp on it at all really, just a glob of black wax. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she cracked open the seal.

> _By the time anyone reads this, I'll be on a ship to Braavos, so I should confess all that I've wished to say for some time now._
> 
> _My name is Ashara Dayne, and I am a rebel. I became a rebel when I smuggled Brandon Stark out of King's Landing using a secret passageway beneath the Red Keep. My only regret is not being able to save his father. I smuggled Eddard Stark into King's Landing using that same secret passageway, and helped him kill the Mad King. I was a rebel spy during the rebellion, passing information to them about the plans of the king and the army._

Elia could not believe what she was reading. Her own friend had been helping the Starks and the rebels, and no one thought anything of it. It was unfathomable. She wanted to feel betrayed, but a small part of her agreed with Ashara. Rhaegar had lost her faith in him too. She kept reading.

> _As my final act of rebellion, I shall free Eddard Stark and sail with him to Braavos. I shall never again kneel to the Iron Throne while Rhaegar Targaryen lives._

_'Rhaegar, what were you going to do?'_ Elia wondered to herself. What punishment was he to visit upon Eddard Stark that drove her friend to act like this?

* * *

**Rhaegar's POV:**

The day had not been going well since court. Rhaegar had been informed by Pycelle that the two guards were indeed dead, the result of wine poisoned with essence of nightshade. He'd later that evening been told, by Varys, that a man fitting Ned Stark's description was seen boarding a ship bound for Braavos. And now he sat holding the letter that Ashara Dayne had written confessing her aid to the rebel cause. Lyanna had not been happy when he told her what became of her brother. She was the one who had convinced him to send Eddard Stark to the Wall instead of the executioner's block, and now all her efforts were rendered for naught.

In truth, Rhaegar did not want to punish Eddard Stark for killing his father. There were many times when Rhaegar himself wanted to do the deed, but he wanted to make sure the transition was peaceful, and his father had too many loyalists around him who knew Rhaegar would cut them out of court as soon as he came into power. No, he had to do this right, to ready the realm for the coming storm. Only, he seemed to create a different storm all on his own. One where he was forced to punish his goodbrother, for doing that which he could not. Or would not.

"Arthur, what do you make of this?" he asked his friend. One of the only friends he had left, amongst Jon, Lyanna, and oddly enough, Varys, the eunuch who had first foiled his plans for Harrenhal. Through some admittedly clever manipulations, he had kept Elia and the children relatively safe from harm. Elia was not his wife, nor his friend anymore, but she'd assured him that she would not be a source of trouble for him. Tywin Lannister, though he was helping Rhaegar a great deal, could never be trusted with anything of such consequence.

Arthur read over the letter once, then twice. On his third reading, he shakily set it down on the table.

"Surely, this must be a trick. Some forgery to cast my sister among the rebels." His eyes scanned the room, hoping for someone there to confirm his hopes. Varys could not.

"I am afraid not, Ser Arthur," Varys replied. "My little birds tell me that Ashara Dayne was also seen boarding the same ship Ned Stark was on. Said ship left in the middle of the night, and is probably almost to Braavos now. Another of my little birds gave me a few of the letters she wrote during the rebellion. There does indeed appear to be coded messages in them detailing the going's on in King's Landing."

"You lie. My sister would never do such a thing! She wouldn't." 

"Whether truly she did or did not, Ser, the evidence says that she did," Varys replied coldly. Arthur made to retort, but Rhaegar stayed his friend's tongue. He'd made a decision.

"If that is her choice, then she must live with it. From this day forward, Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne are to be exiled from Westeros. They shall never again set foot on Westerosi soil, or they shall be tried for treason and executed."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, so sorry this took awhile to update.
> 
> What do you guys think? I hope I did well with this chapter, even if I'm not as invested in this as I am with what I plan for Ned and Ashara. I do have a plan for what is to happen in Westeros, rest assured. Just not one I'm as personally committed too.
> 
> Next chapter, you'll see how Ned and Ashara are adjusting to their new life in Braavos.


	4. Safe Harbor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man and woman arrive in a new city. They reminisce on the past and look to the future. Another man and woman help them seek shelter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support of this story.
> 
> From here on out, you'll start seeing a few OC's that I make to help the story flow. I'll be keeping the focus of the story centered on Ned and Ashara, but these OC's will have some significant roles to play later in the tale I have planned.
> 
> Also be warned that this chapter is a long one, I hope that doesn't deter too many readers.

**Ashara's POV:**

She'd heard stories of Braavos. A city built in secret by former slaves, which then turned into one of the wealthiest cities in Essos. But hearing stories is far different from seeing those stories come to life, as she was now finding out. The captain, a tall man by the name of Aros, had told her that they'd be arriving in Braavos soon. He'd invited her and Ned onto the deck of the ship to 'meet my friend, the Titan.'

And meeting him she was. He stood proud, astride a narrow passage between two islands. Fiery eyes shone out amongst the night sky, and a broken sword was held aloft his hand. His silent figure, towering into the night sky, made Ashara feel as though she were gazing at the Warrior himself. She tucked herself closer to Eddard, who stood beside her beneath a black cloak. She nearly jumped when a terrible howl erupted from the great statue before her, followed by a joyful laugh from Ned's right.

"Don't be afraid, my lady. He's just welcoming us home. Hello, old friend!" Aros called out, to the cheers of his crew. Ned bowed his head, as though the cloak could swallow him whole and render him invisible. Ashara squeezed the arm she held, reminding him that she was there beside him. Aros, noticing the silence, let his smile drop and ushered Ned below deck, leaving Ashara standing alone. She watched as their ship moved ever closer to the Titan, close enough that she could barely begin to make out the murder holes and arrow slits that dotted his torso. This was no statue, or stylized watchtower. No, this was a fortress. A place of safety for the Titan's charges, or a towering obstacle to his foes.

Making her way below deck, she slipped quietly inside the cargo hold, where she found Ned sitting patiently in the dark. With the small lamp she'd brought with her, she made her way to sit beside him. And there, amongst the shadowed crates and the strong figure unto which she rested her head, Ashara Dayne allowed her mind to wander to a time when solemn shadows and patient silence were instead bright firelight and raucous laughter.

_The hall was wrought with joy and merriment. Jokes were passed around as often as ale or wine, and the flames of candles and torches seemed to dance with the bodies to the music weaving the air with songs. A feast fit for kings._

_And Ashara was having the time of her life. She sat with Elia and the other ladies-in-waiting, laughing to a tale told of how the little Rhaenys had toppled her brother._

_"...and down came the Sword of the Morning, with a little girl still pulling at his pretty, soft cape!" Elia finished, cackling gaily with her ladies at the knight's misfortune. Ashara herself finding the story most humorous, as a sister who longed to see her brother humbled, even only a little bit. She could almost picture herself laughing alongside the little princess as the white-armored knight toppled to the floor with the clanks and creaks of his armor. As their laughter slowly subsided, the minstrels began to play their songs and people made their way to dance. Elia's ladies were all swept away by men eager for their company, Ashara as well. And yet, that was all she'd give these men._

_Though Dornish were known all over Westeros for their views on love, lust, and passion, Ashara often found herself uninterested at the prospect of bedding as many men as she could. Her friends, at first hearing of her take on the subject, would teasingly call her the Maiden incarnate. But it was only teasing, and though Ashara herself would never partake in talks of secret trysts or wild fucking, she would not begrudge her friends for their choices._

_But dancing is not fucking, and even Ashara would admit that being sought after for a turn around the floor by many men buoyed her self esteem. Ser Barristan Selmy, though many years her elder and holding a longing in his gaze, was at the very least respectful and took no more than a song to end their dance. Jon Connington danced with her as well, in a poor attempt to show the country a preference he never had. Oberyn Martel, Elia's brother, was the most fun to dance with, teasing her as a brother in all but blood. It was after their turn around the hall that she made to sit by Elia, and caught sight of him for the first time._

_His figure was strong, and even seated she could tell he was tall. His hair was longer than most men, the half that wasn't tied back brushing his leather clad shoulders. Surrounded by men howling with laughter, his small, subtle smile was seemingly out of place, and yet, she found it suited him rather well. As though sensing her gaze, his head turned slightly and met her eyes with his own. She could not tell their color, but she found herself wanting to know._

_It seemed fate had other plans, as another lord approached her for a dance. Not wanting to appear rude, she accepted and was taken away for another song. As they danced, she felt his gaze on her still. She surprised herself in realizing that she did not mind his eyes watching her. She'd been stared at before by many men, but while their gazes left her wanting to blend into the backdrop, she wanted his eyes to remain on her, and her alone. When her partner guided them near to where the man sat, she took as many quick glances of him as she could, trying to figure out why her eyes sought his as his sought hers._

_This close, she could see that he'd begun to grow a shadow of a beard. His garb, though matching many of his fellows, was unique to her eyes. Dark leather, grey cloth, and just the most subtle gleam of silver from the sigil on his breast, the profile of a snarling wolf. He was a Stark of Winterfell, but which one was she? She racked her mind, and recalled that their were four heirs to Rickard Stark, but their names escaped her. She caught another quick glance of him in the middle of a turn and saw how his eyes traced her form. She felt the lust in his gaze, as with all who've looked upon something desirable, but his was also curious, as though silently asking for what lay beneath the fair skin and purple eyes._ _Her dance ended, and she returned to Elia's side. She chanced another look at the Stark man. His sigil fit him well, as he held all the mannerisms of a man but held a wolf's spirit._

_Feeling a nudge at her side, she broke her perusal of him to find Elia smirking suggestively at her._

_"See anything you like, my friend?" came the coy question. Ashara flushed at having been caught in her curiosity. Elia only giggled at her friend's rare display of what appeared to be attraction to a man. Looking to where her friend was previously staring. Elia saw the men of the North engaged in thundering laughter from a joke of Brandon Stark's own creation._

_"So it's the cold North men that interest you, Ash? I knew you had a type," she cheered._

_"Ashara has a type?" Alyssa's surprised tone drew the attention of the others, and they all shifted closer to find out who might possibly claim Ashara Dayne's virtue._

_"It seems she does, her eyes haven't wandered from the Northern tables for some time now," Elia proclaimed, and Ashara felt her cheeks heat up even moreso. She glanced again for the man's eyes and found them looking at her in concern as another who shared his face came to sit next to him._

_"There she goes again," Alyssa remarked, and Ashara pointedly looked away, hoping to at least fool the rest of her friends. All for naught it seems, as Elia remarked that one of them was making his way to them. Ashara whipped her head, hoping beyond hope that the man she'd found was asking her for a dance, but instead she found a face largely similar, but definitely not the face she wanted to see. This man had a wide, confident smile and strode purposefully toward them. When he bowed to her and her friends, his deep voice rumbled out of his chest._

_"My ladies, might I trouble one of you for a dance?"  He looked right at her, and she felt both wary and excited. He was different from his brother, as the sigil on his doublet indicated. While his brother's smile was small and measured, the man before her smiled wide as he could manage, baring pearly white teeth in a confident grin. His hair was wild, and he was never completely still for long. Ashara, recognizing the Wild Wolf, Brandon Stark, before her, sighed quietly but accepted his request. She hoped to at least indicate to him her interest in his brother._

_Imagine her delighted surprise as he led her through the dance floor to where his brother sat, fingers pressed to his temple and a rueful smile on his lips._

_"I admit, this dance is instead with my brother, Eddard Stark," Brandon confessed. She felt a small tuck in her gut at the revelation, but smiled nonetheless, excited to finally dance with the man of soft smiles._

_She was so close to him that his eyes, a misty grey not unlike the early fog of morning, shone in quiet awe of her amethyst gaze. Standing to his full height, he slowly bowed and extended his hand to her. His voice first met her ears with the softness of an ocean breeze._

_"May I have this dance, my lady?" She liked the way his voice sounded. Not trying to be heard by all, just by her._

_"Yes, you may, my lord." Releasing his brother's hand, she took Eddard's and let him lead her among the dancing people. She was pulled close enough to catch the faintest scent of northern pine and wet stone. They turned and twirled to the music, all while talking softly to one another._

_"I was hoping you'd ask me to dance," she remarked. He only shook his head with that soft, rueful smile on his lips._

_"You'll have to forgive my brother for his impatience. He'd rather seize something as soon as he wants it than wait for the right time," he explained. She giggled, happy in knowing that she would've been asked without help at some point. Eddard had a point, and she found it so like him despite knowing little about him. Where his brother was true to the Wild Wolf title, chasing his prey as soon as he had sighted it, Eddard Stark was the Quiet Wolf. The wolf who studied his quarry, and waited until the right moment to seize what he sought. A far more dangerous wolf, and one she found herself wanting to pull closer to her._

_"Well, I'm still glad to dance with you, Lord Eddard," Ashara remarked. Eddard smiled at that._

_"You can call me Ned. Easier to say," he offered. She had to admit, the name was easier to say, but no less fitting._

_"Well, Ned, you can call me Ash instead of Ashara if you wish," she replied in kind, letting her hand ghost up his arm, feeling his muscles move as his hand released her arm to hold her side. She held back a gasp at the warm sensation of his gentle palm._

_"So when would be the right time for a man to ask a woman to dance?" came her question. His gaze fell to the floor in a display of shyness before returning to meet hers._

_"When a woman has not yet danced with many better men that day." His reply surprised her, for she did not know who he considered better than himself. To be fair, she knew little about him, but nothing in his behavior lessened himself compared those she'd danced with thus far._

_"Surely he'd be one of the first to ask her tonight then." She cocked her head to meet his sideways gaze, bringing his eyes to follow hers._

_"You'll have to forgive the man, as he can be prone to view those bolder than him with more regard than himself." The sincere apology was accompanied by a humble bow of his head._

_"Surely it is bolder to admit a fault than claim a prize," she countered easily. Did Ned not realize how often he had drawn her gaze as she'd drawn his? He chuckled, a deep sound that had her smiling as he twirled her in time with the music, before drawing her back to him. She felt closer to him now than before she was spun._

_"You may be right, Ashara. Either way, I am glad for my brother's boldness this night." She was glad as well and continued to dance with Eddard Stark, the Quiet Wolf, for the rest of the night._

Ashara was brought out of her memories when Aros entered the hold, torch in hand. 

"Come, my lord and lady," he said, handing Ashara a black cloak as Ned donned the one he'd previously set aside. The three emerged onto the deck of the ship and made their way onto the dock. The place was devoid of any people, and Ned slightly relaxed at the fact.

"Welcome to the free city of Braavos." Aros waved his torch slowly before him, smiling proudly at the sprawling mass of buildings, canals, and streets before them. His long legs immediately set off, prompting Ned and Ashara to follow him into the maze of back-alleys and waterways. They left the Purple Harbor and wound their way through cobbled streets to a wide canal, where Aros began walking alongside the waterfront. He turned and made his way down to where a small boat was moored, just below the main path. He entered first and set about untying the boat as Ned clambered down into the vessel. The Northerner extended his hand to Ashara, who took it firmly, and cautiously climbed in as well. Safely aboard, Aros picked up two oars and used one to shove them away from cobbled canal wall. 

"Lie back. Use the cloaks to cover yourselves," he whispered and began rowing. Ned and Ashara did as they were told, and reclined into the boat. Aros, it seems, had thought this through. He'd lain piles of soft cloths at the front, and Eddard and Ashara made themselves as comfortable as they could before draping the two cloaks over their bodies.

"Cozy," Ashara whispered dryly to Ned, who only met her remark with a firm, reassuring squeeze of their joined hands. Aros, however, gave a soft chuckle. Apparently he'd heard her sarcasm.

"Only for a short time, my lady," the Braavosi reassured. "I'm just a simple sailor washing his sails," he said, revealing his cover story. This close to Ned, she felt the quiet laugh that escaped him despite the situation, but neither she nor their Braavosi smuggler heard it. And so they continued, with only the soft splashing of the water filling the silence. Ashara, though currently being smuggled into a city, was glad for the closeness she currently had with Eddard Stark. Over the course of their short journey, they'd spend the evenings in the hold, sharing kisses and making more concrete plans for how they'd be living. 

It was strange. Not too long ago, she was a lady-in-waiting to Princess Elia Targaryen, and now she found herself lying amongst a pile of cloth, next to a man who'd killed her king. While a part of her wanted to stay and protect Elia, she'd come to realize that with the current politics of King's Landing, Elia was safer now than she was then. She was the Dornish Princess who'd done her duty to her husband and the realm and was cast aside by that same husband for a younger girl. Ashara had already heard from her brother how some of the Kingsguard privately favored her over Lyanna, though not for her unfair situation. Rather, simply because they'd become more familiar to her than the new queen. Elia was safe, and Ned needed someone by his side now more than ever.

The boat's side tapped against something, and Ashara flinched into her companion. 

"Apologies," came Aros' quiet whisper. "Wait here, I'll check the area." The boat rocked as Ned and Ashara felt their smuggler alight out of the boat and walk away from them. 

"You trust him?" Ned asked softly. Ashara nodded into his chest, which she was using as a pillow. She remembered meeting the tall Braavosi at the docks, picking up some perfumes for Elia. The bells had been ringing in ceremonial mourning for King Aerys, and the man had remarked how a small part of him was thankful to whoever had slain the Mad King. When Ashara asked him why, the captain and stroked his close-cut beard and replied with a story of how a member of his crew had carelessly made a joke about the man, and the king found out and burned him alive for it. 

"My crew are like family, and I, as their captain, am their protector, my lady," he'd finished sadly. "Since then, I've forbidden my crew go to any inn's here until a new king is crowned. Today's their first day back in King's Landing."

Ashara knew an opportunity when she'd seen it, and dropped a subtle invitation for the man to meet her at the same place later that night. They'd hatched a quick, but effective plan, and the two nights later, on a new moon, the  _Sparrowhawk_ left King's Landing in silent haste.

Ned and Ashara heard the footsteps approaching them, and Aros hummed a happy tune as he descended toward the boat.

"Come, come. We're nearly there," he beckoned. Ned and Ashara both emerged from beneath their cloaks. Clambering out of the boat, they followed Aros down a few more streets until they arrived at an intersection of a street and a canal. An inn's entrance stood at the corner, and a sign for "Sofia's Nest" hung over the door. Aros, however, entered a backalley behind the building and led then to a simple door that served as the workers' entrance for the establishment. He lightly tapped his knuckles on the door waited.

Not long later, a woman answered. Her chestnut hair was pulled taught into a braid that fell over one shoulder, and her nightgown and robe hung loosely over her body. Her heart-shaped face pulled itself into a smile upon seeing Aros. She hugged him tightly, and he returned the gesture. Releasing him from her embrace, the woman turned to look at Ashara and Ned. 

"Quickly, inside," she whispered, waving them urgently into the inn. The three stepped up into what appeared to be a kitchen, one that was well equipped with more than enough dishes and utensils to feed the whole inn. The woman, who in the light of the candles she'd set on the table looked to be only a few namedays older than Ashara, smiled at the two weary refugees.

"Well, Aros, these are the first Westerosi you've brought me." She walked up to them, looking them over. "My name is Sofia. What are your names?"

"I'm Ashara, and this is Ned," the Dornish woman answered. She nodded to Ned who started telling the woman what they could do.

"We can both start working tomorrow, if that's..."

"Hush! We'll come that later. Aros' told me what you did and why you're here. Rest for now, and let me and Aros worry about your employment." She turned and briefly disappeared into a small side room. She came back holding two keys. "Now, I only have the one key per room, so remember to keep this key on you at all times."

"Oh, we only need one room for now," Ashara corrected. Though Ned was cautious at first, Ashara reassured him, saying that she knew he would not try anything without her consent. After the past few days, Ashara was not letting Ned out of her sight anytime soon.

Sofia raised an eyebrow, before smirking wryly. "Then I should also ask you keep the noise down when the mood strikes. I have other customers who need their sleep," she giggled. Ned blushed and suddenly seemed to find his boots very interesting. Ashara giggled as well, and took the key from Sofia. Their hostess gestured up the stairs. "Seventh door on the right. I'll bring up some nightclothes as well, though they may be a bit big."

"I'm sure we'll be fine. Thank you so much, Sofia," Ashara said gratefully. Sofia tipped her head down in acceptance.

The pair made their way to their room. While Ned made to close the door behind them, Ashara quickly looked over the room. She saw a large bed pushed into the corner, and a small table and chair in another. There was a screen cover folded up near the bed, and a small set of cabinets and drawers protruding out from the opposite wall. She had just taken off her cloak and placed both her's and Ned's on the small table when Sofia bustled in carrying a nightgown for Ashara and some clean breeches and a fresh shirt for Ned. 

"Get some rest, you two. You've had a long journey." She bid them goodnight and left as quietly as she'd come. 

Ashara and Ned opened up the screen and both quickly changed into their nightclothes. Ashara finished before Ned and crawled onto the bed, sighing softly at finally having a proper place to sleep. When Ned finished changing, Ashara felt him settle his strong frame next to her. Seeking the man whom she'd left her comfortable life for, Ashara scooted ever closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder, as she'd done on their boat trip. Ned, nervous as he was, slowly relaxed and wound his arm under and around her even slower. The pair barely bid each other good night before sleep claimed them. 

Though their future would likely never be the same as if they'd kept their positions in Westeros, neither wished for anything more than the other by their side.

* * *

_"Thank you for doing this, Sofi. I know it's not who I usually bring, but..."_

_"Don't worry, Aros. They need our help, just as much as they do. You'll be meeting the others tomorrow?"_

_"Yes, we need to figure out when the next convoy comes through. Then we'll leave to get them out of there."_

_"Do be careful, all of you. As much as I know this is the right thing, I can't stand the thought losing any of my friends."_

_"I'll try to get them all home safe."_

_"That goes for you as well, you know."_

_"I know, Sofi. I know."_

_"If only we could get the Sealord or the Bank behind this."_

_"We're working on that, but it may take some time. For now, we do what we can."_

_"Good night, Aros."_

_"Good night, Sofi."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever are Aros and Sofia doing, you may wonder. All in due time, friends, all in due time.
> 
> I think this may be the longest chapter I've written thus far. I apologize for the unexpected length, but I wanted to at least have Ned and Ashara relatively safe before closing out. 
> 
> Let me know what y'all thought of this chapter.


	5. Burnt, Lost, Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man adjusts to his new purpose. His brother seeks his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotional chapter ahead. You have been warned.

**Brandon's POV:**

They stung the worst in the mornings, when the fog of sleep left him and his mind remembered their existence. The maester assured him that, in time, their sting would become nothing more than a memory, but Brandon Stark was not known for his patience. Everyday since Aerys had punished him for threatening to kill Rhaegar, the eldest Stark would wake up to feel as though part of his race was burning once again. Rising from his bed, he opened his window and sighed in relief as the cold, northern air caressed his burns. Oh, how he wished the winds of the North could be made into an ointment for his wound. 

"Brandon?" came the sleepy voice. A small smile graced his face as his wife, Catelyn Stark, formerly of house Tully, stirred from her sleep. Awakened as she was by the chill, the red-haired beauty shivered slightly and grabbed a robe to cover herself. Rising too from their bed, she shuffled over to her husband. 

"The burns again?" she asked softly, though she likely already knew the answer. This had been her reality for weeks after Brandon's miraculous arrival at Riverrun. Then, when the fighting got dangerously close, the pair traveled to Winterfell, where they remained for the rest of the rebellion. A rebellion that Brandon was nearly set to continue, were it not for the fact that he'd be rebelling against his own blood now. 

"Aye. The maester says the pain will cease at some point, but it feels as though this will be with me for the rest of my life," he lamented, brushing a gentle hand over his cheek, where the worst of the damage was. Catelyn took the hand and moved it away from the burned skin.

"Well, it seems to be healing well enough." She kissed his cheek gently, careful not to put too much pressure for fear of aggravating the pain further. Brandon nodded mutely, not knowing what to say. A knock at the door sounded in the silence.

"Come in," Brandon's deep voice rumbled. At the permission, an older man entered the room, his drab robes and clanking chain identifying him as a measter. Brandon let out a soft groan at the sight of the man, though his reaction would certainly have been greater at the former maester of Winterfell. This new one was markedly better than the old one. Where Maester Walys was ever complaining in some form or fashion about the North, Maester Luwin kept his reservations to himself and even seemed to be growing an appreciation for it, much like Brandon's wife.

"I know you dread this, my lord, but the salve will help the wound heal faster." Luwin held up the aforementioned salve, a beige goo that was contained in a bottle. Begrudgingly, the Lord of Winterfell went to sit on the bed as Luwin pulled up a small chair and sat next to him, beginning to apply the creamy substance to Brandon's scarred face. Brandon flinched every now and then as the old man worked, but he did not cry out. 

"There. Finished for now." Brandon sighed in relief at that. "And you will be happy to know that I think we can try forgoing the salve tomorrow," added Luwin. He smiled as his lord visibly brightened up at the news.

"Thank the gods!" Brandon declared triumphantly. Catelyn chuckled at his enthusiasm and called a few servants to help her and her husband get ready for the day. 

Dressed warmly, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell walked through the castle, arm in arm. In the courtyard, they spotted Brandon's youngest brother methodically striking at a practice dummy. His attacks were slow and calculated, but were slowly building up speed as he settled into a rhythm. 

"Is he dead yet, brother?" Brandon japed. Benjen looked upon his brother and smiled, though the effort behind it was minimal at best. 

"He is, but I'm still wanting to fight. Think you could help me out, Bran?" Benjen challenged, a small joking tone in his voice. Brandon laughed loudly, a merry sound that filled the courtyard. 

"I accept, Pup," the older brother said, a happy tone still in his voice. 

With his lady-wife and new maester watching from the sidelines, Brandon circled his younger brother, each of them holding sparring swords so as to allow them to really commit to swings at the other's padded figure. But neither struck first, each circling the other. Observing. Anticipating. Waiting. Brandon did not like waiting.

Stepping forward, Brandon slashed at Ben's torso but was parried away by his younger brother. Before his brother could counter, Bran attacked again, this time aiming for Benjen's leg. And so it went, with Bran levying attack after attack, giving his brother little room to counter. And yet, even with little room to counter, Benjen never did. Bran began to feel as though he was hitting an invisible barrier surrounding his brother. Every attack was blocked, dodged, or parried. Even when he tried to nick Ben's arm, he only made contact with air. Bran brought his sword back to himself, preparing to thrust, and that his when his brother struck. 

He only ever remembered thrusting his blade out in a strike and a blow landing on his side. His sword was thrust away from him, but his brother was not there, only just left of his blade. Ben smirked at his brother. Bran, though, laughed merrily.

"So the pup has fangs," remarked the elder brother. Benjen smiled at that, perhaps the first true smile Bran had seen since his return. Lowering his sword, Bran embraced his youngest brother, who returned the sentiment. It was Benjen who ended the hug, but he was still truly smiling, and Brandon was satisfied with that. His brother, had barely been smiling at all since Brandon's return, even less so when the rebellion had ended and certain truths were brought to light.

Though she was his sister, Brandon wanted to wring Lyanna's neck for her selfishness. How she never thought that her family would go to war for her, he couldn't say. Compounding this with the fact that she had the gall to write that he shouldn't have called for Rhaegar's head was maddening to say the least. Brandon still hadn't finished his letter to her, and he doubted he ever would, as he'd surely need a whole flock of ravens to fully let her know what he thought of her actions these past few months. And if Lyanna ever brought up her doomed marriage to Robert Baratheon, Brandon doubted anyone could stop him from riding to the Red Keep and dragging her home by her hair. The girl, for all her dreams of becoming a knight, was certainly a coward for not even trying to make the best of the situation. 

Though, Brandon would admit that keeping Robert Baratheon to one bed would be a daunting task for any woman. How he and Ned ever became friends, only the gods would know. His thoughts grew sad upon remembering his other brother, alone in that dark cell. But so long as Lyanna's husband kept his word, Ned would live. And that gave Brandon hope. 

"Bran," Benjen began. "I want to speak with you about something tonight." 

Confused, Brandon noticed the serious, somber expression that had returned to his brother's face. "Sure, Ben. Meet me in the godswood after supper."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Benjen walked out of the courtyard. Catelyn, having been listening quietly walked up beside her husband as his brother left their sight.

"He used to be so much happier," Brandon began. "I remember all the mischief he and Lyanna would get in to. Sheep-shitting one another's beds, sneaking out of Walys' lessons. Hells, I even remember one time when those two drew on the statues down in the crypts. Father nearly ripped their heads off for that one, had Ned not..." Bran trailed off, remembering the Quiet Wolf once again. His brother was always the protector of the four of them. Whether he was talking Bran down from doing something rash, or bailing Benjen and Lyanna out of worse punishment, Ned was always looking after his family. And them, look at what they did for him. Bran curled his hand into a fist. he probably would have torn up his glove had Catelyn not curled her hand around his. 

"Your sister promised he would live," she reminded him.

"At the Wall, doing nothing but his duty. But yes, he'll live." 

The pair left the courtyard, and Bran went to the Lord's solar. Upon entering, he sat at his father's desk. Running his hands over the wooden top, he felt new tears forming in his eyes. Rickard Stark, for all his political ambitions, tried to be a good father. He sent Ned to foster with the honorable Jon Arryn, betrothed Brandon to a woman who he had grown to love over the past few months, and had let them all go to Harrenhal for one last celebration before he'd have them do their duties. Not a perfect father to be certain, as his plans for Lyanna went, but still a father they all loved. 

_"I hope I make you proud, Father,"_ Brandon thought to himself. He could no longer be the Wild Wolf, now he had to be the Lord of Winterfell. He would have had to cast off the Wild Wolf eventually, but the time came far sooner than he'd ever thought. All because of a young girl who fell in love with a prince. With a bitter glare settling his features, Brandon sat down and set to work, hoping to distract himself from his dark thoughts. He'd been working for nearly an hour when Maester Luwin clanked into his solar, a raven's scroll held in his hands.

"My lord, a raven from King's Landing." Brandon stilled at the words, his bitter thoughts returning. There could be little doubt as to who the sender was. Taking the scroll from Luwin, Brandon read the words that had him laughing with joy and growling in rage.

 

> _My dear brother, Ned escaped._
> 
> _Ashara Dayne poisoned his guards and left with Ned aboard a ship to Braavos. Rhaegar has banished them from Westeros on punishment of death should they return, but he will make no move to capture them. This is not what we planned, but our brother still lives. Take comfort in that, Bran._
> 
> _Your sister,_
> 
> _Lyanna Targaryen_

"My lord?" Luwin prodded. 

"It seems that my brother had some charm to him after all." Brandon could still remember how his brother would often come back to their camp well into the night, the widest of smiles Bran had ever seen on his face. "He and Lady Ashara Dayne have fled to Braavos. They're never to return, but they're free to do as they please in Essos."

"Why would Lady Dayne help Lord Eddard?" Bran laughed at that. Why indeed? He should have seen it before, when said lady was leading him through that secret passage. She barely said a word to him as they walked, save for when she brought him to the single horse that was tied off at the mouth of that cavern, outside of the city. "Give _your brother my regards,"_ she had said. 

* * *

When supper was over, Bran walked to the godswood. The weirwood tree at the center stood proud. And below the canopy of red leaves sat Benjen. His eyes caught sight of Brandon, and Benjen stood to greet his eldest brother. 

"What's got you smiling?" Benjen asked. His brother hadn't been so happy since Harrenhal, and Benjen wondered what had happened to cause this shift in his brother's demeanor. Brandon only held out a small raven's scroll to him. With the answers likely contained within, Benjen read its contents. 

"He's alive, thank the gods," Benjen concluded, a smile on his face. Bran nodded and, whilst he would have liked to have his brother close to home, he was at least grateful that his brother was keeping his head. Benjen's smile soon faded, however. Whatever had been on his mind throughout the day had only been temporarily abated by the bittersweet news. Brandon placed his hand on his brother, wanting to know what had been troubling him.

"What is it, Ben?" 

"Bran...I've been thinking a lot these past few days..." Benjen trailed off, his eyes looking to the grim face of the weirwood tree. Finding some measure of courage, he turned once again to his brother. "I have so many memories here. Good memories, but now they've grown bittersweet." Bran nodded, having been feeling the same way since his return. 

"Aye, I know how you feel brother, but we can make new memories, can we not?"

"It's more than that brother. I..." Ben sighed, gritting his teeth at not being able to find the right words. "You were always going to be the next Lord of Winterfell. Lyanna was betrothed and knew what was expected of her. Though, she did not listen." Ben's tone grew dark toward the end. Bran had rarely seen him angry at their sister, as the two had perhaps the deepest bond of the Stark heirs. However, the war had changed much, and with everything that had happened, he supposed that it was to be expected that even Ben would find it hard to forgive his sister. 

"I am the pup. Always have been. I think I need to find the wolf in me, Bran, and I think I'll find him outside of Winterfell." Ben hung his head, as though ashamed of what he had just confessed. 

Bran stood there, no doubt looking as though he'd just been slapped across the face. His brother had never voiced these thoughts before, and to hear them now had Bran seeing Benjen Stark in a new light. And he saw that his brother felt lost, even within the walls of his own home. Moved by his sibling's confession, Brandon embraced his brother, new tears springing to his eyes. Benjen hugged him too, and just as fiercely. And both brothers stood there, beneath the weirwood tree, as waves of anguish, guilt, shame, and fear washed over them. Neither could say how long they stood there, but eventually, their tears dried, and their arms relaxed. Brandon took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on his brother. 

"If you feel like you need to go, then go. Just know that Winterfell is always open to you, Ben."

"I know, Bran. I know."

He left the following morning. Brandon and Catelyn watched as the last of Rickard Stark's remaining heirs left Winterfell, save for the eldest. The pack had seemingly been shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again, friends. I think I'm getting the hang of this writing thing.
> 
> So...confession time. I've...never actually written a story to completion before outside of oneshots. In fact, this is the furthest I've gotten in a multi-chaptered story, so if the wheels start coming off, know that the fault lies with me and my lack of experience with writing bigger tales.


	6. Equivalence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new dawn breaks. As Ned and Ashara begin their new lives, Ned begins to sense that, perhaps, he may have found more than a safe haven in coming to Braavos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT! I don't have any good excuses, other than an unexpectedly stubborn block. I'll try to keep it from happening too often as this is the second time I've made you lot wait longer than necessary. To make up for it, here's a large dose of fluffiness from our favorite wolf and star.

**Ned POV:**

He didn’t know when the last time was that he’d felt so comfortable. After spending days sleeping on stone or wood, and months before in cots made more for easy transport than comfort, waking up in a soft bed was a welcome feeling. As he emerged from slumber, a warm weight helped him remember that he wasn’t alone in the bed.

Though the sun had not yet risen, he knew the form and feel of the woman who shared this bed with him. In the blue glow before dawn, he could see her long, raven hair falling over his arm and pooling on the sheets. She’d taken to using his shoulder as a pillow and had one arm tucked to her chest as the other wrapped around his waist. He felt her soft breath on his shirt as she continued to dream, of what he did not know. But judging from the peaceful look in her face, it was one where she was content. Ned let her be, not wanting to disturb the one who'd saved him from a punishment he deserved. 

Did he really deserve whatever fate Rhaegar had decided for him? Was it the honorable thing to accept the consequences of his actions? These thoughts had been floating in his head since he'd been thrown into the Black Cells. The simple truths were this, Aerys had killed Ned's father and burned his brother, and Ned had killed Aerys. From what Ned had heard, his father and brother were not the only ones to have suffered under Aerys' madness. And how many opportunities did Rhaegar have to depose his father? Surely the new king could have taken the throne without hosting some grandiose tournament as a front to gather all the great lords of Westeros. Southerners often confounded Ned with their penchant for overly complex and too-subtle plans. Perhaps his views on honor needed to be reevaluated, or at the very least, adjusted.

His musings were interrupted as the raven-haired woman stirred in her sleep. The early twilight had given way to the first beginnings of dawn, and the golden rays of the sun were just beginning to illuminate the room. In the warm glow, Ashara's eyes began to flutter open. When she looked up from his shoulder and met his eyes with her own, a soft smile emerged. He smiled as well, cupping her face in his large hand and bringing their lips together in a gentle kiss. Ashara hummed happily, and moved on top of him so she could get a better angle. As they kissed, Ned moved the hand cupping her face to weave his fingers through her soft hair and set his other hand on her waist. As their lips slid against each other, Ashara curled her fingers into Ned's shirt and slid her free hand up to lay on his cheek.  When air became a necessity, they parted from their kiss, but only just. 

"Good morning, Ash," Ned whispered. 

"Good morning, Ned," Ashara whispered back, her soft breath mingling with his. This close to one another, Ned could feel her breath on his lips. They lay in silence for a bit longer, just basking in each other's presence as their bodies and minds slowly crawled out of the haze of slumber. Ned expedited the process by reclaiming her lips with his. Ashara giggled against his lips, a soft, melodic sound that emboldened Ned even further. He touched his tongue to her lips, asking her for entrance. She responded in kind, and their tongues met as their kiss deepened. This second kiss of the day lasted longer than the first. When they next parted for air, both where panting ever so slightly. Ashara smiled at the affection she was receiving. 

"What brought this on?" she asked, her purple eyes twinkling in mirth. 

"Do I need a reason to kiss you?" Ned countered, surprising himself with his retort. Ashara only laughed, her smile spread wide across her lovely face. 

"No, I suppose you don't." She pressed her lips his for the third time that day, and Ned once again lost himself in her kiss. Barely awake for an hour, and he'd already tasted the sweetness of Ashara Dayne's kiss thrice. Now properly awake, the pair got up from their bed and set about getting ready for a new day in a new city. As he pulled on his pants, Ned startled as Ashara's nightgown hopped over the barrier and landed on his head. Her heard her giggle from behind the screen.

"Vixen," he chuckled, wanting nothing more than to round the barrier and...well, they'd never leave the room if he did. And they'd no longer be virgins anymore.

"And you love it," she said in reply. Oh, he did, for as steadfast in his self-imposed boundaries as he tried to be, even Eddard Stark enjoyed toeing the line from time to time.

Eventually, they did get dressed and make their way down to the kitchens, eager to repay the kindness shown to them by strangers.

They found Sofia there, among the the various foods and ingredients stored in baskets, barrels, and pantries. She was humming a soft tune to herself, a merry one by the sound of it. Her hands were white with flour, and the apron she'd been wearing was not faring any better. And yet, she seemed to not mind in the slightest. Ned almost didn't want to disturb her, but this woman was kind enough to give them a place to live. He felt indebted to her and wanted to do what he could to repay her kindness. Ashara seemed to share his thoughts, as she was the one who greeted their benefactor.

"Good morning, Sofia."

"Oh, good morning, you two. You're up earlier than I expected," observed Sofia. 

"You've already shown us such kindness, madam. We'd be remiss not to repay you in kind," Ned replied. 

"You Westerosi. So proper," she tsked. "You both have been through a lot from what Aros has told me. I can manage without help for one more day. Aros will be by soon. He'll show you around the city. Now, shoo!" She shoved them out of the kitchen and into the dining area of the inn. There, propped up on the door, was Aros. 

"You learn very quickly that Sofia nearly turns into a different woman in that kitchen," he chuckled. "Now come along, we have a city to meet."

* * *

 They'd been wandering markets, alleyways, and plazas for half the day, but Braavos seemed to have no end. Just as Ned thought they'd seen all of what the city had to offer, Aros would excitedly usher them off to a favored tavern or a famous landmark. They'd mostly been using the waterways as transport to avoid the crowded streets, and it was as they passed through the Long Canal that Ned glanced the arch spanning it. There, set in stone, were the words:

> _No Man, Woman, or Child in Braavos shall ever be a slave._

"The first law of Braavos," Aros said, though oddly quiet compared to how he'd previously been talking about his home city. His tone was still proud, but it also carried with it a sense of duty or reverence to it. "Our city was not founded by people seeking gold, power, or glory, Eddard Stark. No, Braavos was founded by men, women, and children seeking the greatest prize of all: Freedom." 

"I've heard of the founding of Braavos. Slaves rose up against their captors and hid themselves for over a hundred years in this lagoon."

"Indeed, young Stark. Freedom is worth any price. Thankfully ours was far cheaper than what most have to pay." Aros grew quiet. As he piloted their boat under the arch, he let his hand brush against the stone, a proud look on his face. They sailed further down the Canal and came upon the Isle of the Gods. Ashara's smile brightened at seeing the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea. As they weaved in and around the Isle, Ned looked and listened for any mention of his gods, but Aros never said a word about weirwoods or carved faces. Perhaps the only hope he had of honoring his gods was a visit to what the Braavosi captain called the Holy Refuge, which looked like little more than a storehouse. 

"Do you know of any place for the Old Gods, Aros?" he asked. Aros raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Weirwoods?" Ned clarified. The Braavosi paused and thought to himself.

"The House of Black and White has the face of a Weirwood tree in their halls, but be warned, Eddard. Few who go in those doors ever come out." He thought for a bit more and sighed in defeat. "Beyond that place, I cannot think of where to find a Weirwood tree in Braavos. Sorry, Eddard."

Leaving the Isle of the Gods and the Long Canal, Aros began weaving their boat in and among more narrow waterways. They moved throughout the different districts of Braavos, and Ned was fascinated by what he saw. Even what Aros called the poorer districts of Braavos held a quality of life that some people in Westeros would never taste. The Aqueduct or, as Aros called it, the Sweetwater River stood proud amidst the city buildings. The Moon Pool to which it fed was also a sight to behold, with Braavosi swordsmanship on full display there. Aros was even called out to a few times by some men seeking to best him in a duel, but their guide remained with them, though not before throwing a few japes back at his challengers. 

Moving further through the city, Ned began to feel...something. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, whatever it was, but it was also something he'd never felt before. And it wasn't physical, as far as he could tell. His body felt just as it had when he'd woken up that morning. He did not know if it was a presence or a premonition, but there was definitely something unseen around him, and he was moving closer toward it. 

As they neared the Sealord's Palace, the feeling intensified. Ned felt Ashara take his hand, and he looked at her. She held a deep concern in her eyes. Even Aros had halted his monologue of the role and election of the Sealord to look at the man that had taken to grabbing onto his boat to ground himself against something unseen by Ashara or the sailor. 

"Ned, what's wrong?" Ashara asked, worry evident in her voice. Ned only breathed shakily, before slowly beginning to breathe normally. The feeling hadn't left, but it had lessened enough to not overwhelm him. He still had yet to decide if the new sensation was malicious or just so new as to overwhelm one the first time they were to feel it, though he'd never heard of anyone feeling as he had just now. 

"It's nothing, Ashara. I'm fine now, truly," He added. He sat up straighter, as though to prove he was truly fine. Ashara narrowed her eyes skeptically, but after a few scrutinizing looks, she seemed to accept that Ned was in no immediate danger. 

"At least tell me what caused this?" she asked hopefully. 

"When we get back to the inn. I promise." The Sealord's palace was their last destination on this tour, and Aros had already turned down another waterway, back to their new home. Ashara nodded in acceptance and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. They sat in silence as they sailed back to the inn, but Ned glanced once more at the Sealord's palace, wondering what he felt that was contained within those walls. And was it evil, good, or simply powerful?

The longer he thought about it, the more he felt that something inside the palace was calling to him powerfully, almost desperately. He turned away from the palace, but thought to himself that he would find out what lay in those walls. 

* * *

After the long day they'd had, Ned and Ashara were grateful for a warm bed to sleep in. Ned slipped into bed next to Ashara and wound his arms around her. She pushed herself closer to him, and in their proximity, they whispered to one another. 

"I don't know, Ned. Perhaps you should avoid the Sealord's palace. You looked like you were close to fainting on the boat." Ned's tale of what he sensed within the walls of the Sealord's palace had done little to ease the worry Ashara had felt for him. Ned propped himself up on his arms to see her better. 

"I don't think it was evil, whatever it was. I think it was just because I'd never felt something like that before, Ash," he responded. The Dornish woman thinned her lips concernedly. Ned tried to think of some way to ease her worries, and a simple idea came to him. "What we try this? We try to visit the palace again, and if I still feel faint close to it, then I promise to avoid it as best I can," he offered. Ashara searched his eyes, hoping he was being truthful. Seeing the sincerity she found there, she smiled a bit and nodded her head.

"Sounds fair, but remember that tomorrow we're starting work for Sofia," she reminded him. Ned smiled and pecked her lips.

"Agreed." He kissed her once more before he lay back on the bed, ready to go to sleep. But the woman next to him had other plans.

"If you nearly fainted at sensing something," she began, her tone suddenly turning sultry, "then I can't help but wonder what our first time will be like," she finished, sliding her hand down his chest, settling it over the flesh between his legs. Ned let out a short breath at the sudden contact but recovered quickly enough, grabbing her wrist and rolling on top of her. Ashara giggled at her effect on him then groaned as he kissed her deeply. Working his lips on hers, Ned pulled more groans of pleasure from her. When no more where forthcoming, he lifted the pressure on her.

"That's for you to wait and find out," he said, laying back down beside her. Ashara only hid her mouth behind her hand, stifling a laugh.

"Tease," she lamented before snuggling close to him once again. They lay there and waited for passage to the world of dreams.

* * *

_Miles away, in the dead of night, the sails of a ship unfurled. Men aboard raised a toast to one they hoped to bring back, damn what certain powers declared. And with little preamble or ceremony, the ship left her port and was underway._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am soooo sorry for the long delay. I'll try to have the next one done much sooner for you all. 
> 
> Hope you all have a lovely day.


	7. Influence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some men cause a stir in port while searching for someone. They meet someone who may be able to help them. Ned has a choice to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello once again, my readers. Before we begin, I'll be answering some questions you may have regarding what will generally be happening in the near future for our characters. I've tried not to give too much away, but all the same, treat these as the most mild of **spoilers!**
> 
> 1) Will Ned be joining the Company of the Rose? No. I didn't even know there was a sellsword company in Essos descended from Northmen. Even if I did, that is not Ned's path in my story.
> 
> 2) Will Robert be joining Ned in Essos? Eventually. Not as soon as some people think, as I want to do a few things with him before he meets his old buddy, but he will reunite with Ned.
> 
> 3)N+A=J? No, in a sense. There will be no one named Jon Snow or Aegon Targaryen, besides Elia's Aegon, but a child may grow up to have a very similar personality to the White Wolf. I have yet to decide that, however.
> 
> As to where I've been. Working. I recently got a job that is physically demanding and leaves me tired at the day's end. Though I still probably could've written something to let you all know. Needless to say, updates will more than likely take more time from now on.

**Howland's POV:**

As a crannogman, Howland almost always felt too exposed in any place outside of the Neck. Growing up in Greywater Watch, the diminutive man grew to love the close quarters and thick air of the swamps. There a man could hide from sharp words and sharper steel. Amongst the vines and lizard-lions, a man could disappear from his enemies and only strike when there was little risk to themselves. Indeed, Howland had grown to love his home, but every now and then, he'd feel the urge to explore the world outside of the Neck. The first time he'd journeyed outside the swamps was with his father on a visit to Winterfell.

The little boy of ten had marveled at the wide, open fields and the vast sky. When they came within sight of Winterfell, the tall walls and taller towers looked like they were built by giants to the little boy who'd never left his home. His father had always been taller than him in those days, so to see other men tower over him only to be dwarfed by others still, the little boy thought that perhaps giants did exist. When he'd been introduced to Rickard Stark, the tallest man he'd ever seen, Howland could feel the fear deep in his bones. But then, the big man had welcomed him and his father with gentle words and a warm kindness. He'd introduced Howland to his children, and they too were kind to him and his father. When the time came to leave, the boy asked his father if they could meet the giants again. His father had laughed and said they'd see one another again.

Again would not be for years. In his time on the Isle of Faces, he'd seen the preparations underway for a great gathering at Harrenhal. He'd seen Stark banners riding in and had gone to join them, only to be assaulted by three squires. He'd remembered thinking that he'd be kicked to death by the cruel men until a powerful, feminine voice had called for them to cease. She'd grown since they'd last met, but Howland doubted he'd fail to recognize Lyanna Stark. The She-Wolf laid into the boys with a tourney sword she'd snagged from a nearby rack. With a ferocity he'd never seen before, she'd sent the three squires fleeing. She saw him to his tent and had tended his injuries, which thankfully amounted to no more than some large bruises and no broken bones. 

There in that tent, he'd met the Stark children once again. Beautiful Lyanna, who insisted he sit with them at their table. Wild Brandon, who'd called a maester to see to his injuries. Young Benjen, who was so similar to him in height and build at the time that his bronze scales were easily replaced with soft linen. And quiet Eddard, whose calm presence gave the crannogman a sense of peace. He got to know them better that night at the feast. 

Lyanna, though still the She-Wolf of Winterfell, was a woman at heart, as her tears at the crown prince's song proved. The She-Wolf appeared almost immediately after when Benjen poked a little too much fun at her. When he identified the three squires who'd attacked him, it was Lyanna who'd drawn the attention of her brothers to the three. 

Benjen was still young, but he'd displayed a resourcefulness when he offered to find Howland a horse and fitting armor. He also appeared to be quite close with his sister, as not even a minute had passed from the moment Lyanna had poured wine on him to when he subtly suggested that Robert Baratheon go participate in a distant drinking competition, much to Lyanna's relief. 

Brandon had already begun to prove himself as a capable future Lord of Winterfell, mingling with his future bannermen and listening to their concerns, but he was still the Wild Wolf. If he wasn't flirting with any or all females in his immediate vicinity, he was drinking and laughing so loud that Howland thought a thunderstorm lived in his lungs. 

And Eddard Stark, the Quiet Wolf? He was much like Howland, quiet, unassuming, and often overlooked amongst the giant figures and egos of those around him. Unlike Howland, however, when he spoke, people would listen. While his siblings were joking and teasing with on another, it was the quiet Ned who cooled them down when the teasing bordering on something malicious. A quiet word from him held the same power and presence as a bellow from his wild brother. Had smiles been ever-present throughout the time at Harrenhal, Howland recalled that perhaps Ned would've been given Moat Cailin. The little man could not think of a better place for the Quiet Wolf.

But all the smiles died at Harrenhal when Rhaegar crowned Lyanna, and war followed. Ned avenged his father, but to prevent further bloodshed, he was banished. And that is why Howland found himself on the docks of a strange port, almost folding into himself to lessen the feeling of exposure while his fellows commenced to asking the locals about the man they sought. He clutched the small sack around his neck, in which lay a few small seeds, and prayed. If Howland felt overexposed, some of his fellow Northmen felt just the opposite. Greatjon Umber, with his tall stature and bellowing voice was drawing more eyes and ears that nearby vendors. 

"Come on, lad, tell me if you've seen my man," he barked down to a little boy, who looked ready to faint. Howland was just about to try and calm his friend when another man marched up to the two. He wore a light shirt and dark leather vest. At his waist was a sword, though very different from the swords of Westeros. The boy swiftly ducked behind him as the man stepped up to the towering Greatjon. 

"You're looking for a man, I heard." His voice held a dryness to it that gave away the sarcasm to his comment. To his credit, Greatjon did not rise to the barb, and only nodded gruffly. 

"Aye, I am." His voice was quieter, but with men like him, that only meant that you did not have to speak up to be heard over him. As such, the crowd of curious eyes turned away from the scene and went about their business. Howland, for his part, remained quiet and observed the scene. This Braavosi eyed Greatjon in way the crannogman thought as wary. And who wouldn't be? 

After a short silence, the man spoke again in a less dry tone. "Tell me of this man. Perhaps I can help."

"His name is Eddard," Howland said, his voice much calmer than the booming voice of his companions. "He's a friend of our's who..." he trailed off, weighing his words carefully. If he told this man the true reason they'd come, and what the man they sought had done, there was a chance he might not help them at all. "...who we'd like to speak to about his family."

"Family is important," replied the man. He glanced at all the others who'd traveled with Howland. Greatjon's towering frame loomed behind Howland. Wyman Manderly, perhaps the eldest of the group, stood with his arms crossed. Beside him, Rickard Karstark stood silently as well. And standing behind him, young Jorah Mormont, who'd accompanied the group on behalf of his father. Their number was small, but these men were only a portion of those who supported the endeavor the travelers had undertaken. It had been paramount their journey be secret, and thus, only a few houses were represented on the voyage. Each brought only enough men to man the ship that brought them there. 

"Come," beckoned the Braavosi. "We can talk at an inn. You must be thirsty from your travels."

The Northmen looked to one another, a silent debate taking place as whether or not to accept the invitation. With short nods of acceptance, they followed this stranger as he led them through the winding streets of Braavos. It was not long before they arrived at the inn the man had spoken of. He directed them inside, to where Howland found himself beginning to relax, welcoming the closer quarters. Though, perhaps not the stares. Thankfully, most of them were directed at the hulking frame of Greatjon, who nearly had to duck to enter the door. The stares left as soon as they came, and the five Northmen followed their guide to a larger table set in a corner.

After being seated, they were greeted by a woman who seemed roughly the same age as the man. They ordered their drinks, but before the woman could fetch their refreshment, the man whom they followed whispered something in her ear. Howland noticed a serious expression overcome the woman's features before she made her way back to the kitchens. The man turned to face them.

"Tell me, why do you seek this man again? Something regarding his family?" Howland could hear the skepticism in his tone. 

"Yes, we wish to tell him of his brother, who's been trying to find him for some time," Howland replied. While not a lie, it was not the truth either. Brandon Stark would be there with them searching for his brother, if he knew of their voyage. It seemed as though Howland was a poor liar, as the man raised an eyebrow in a flat, unimpressed expression. 

The serving woman brought their drinks to them and left as quickly as she came. The man placed both hands on the table, his fingers folded over one another. 

"So his brother sends five strangers to find him instead of coming to look for his brother himself?" 

"We're not strangers to him," Wyman Manderly replied, his tone growing sharp with indignity.

"No. How do I know?" The man asked. Howland made to reply, but found his voice had left him.

"Because I do." Even if Howland wasn't seeing him, there'd be no mistaking that quiet voice and Northern accent. 

* * *

  **Ned POV:**

Sitting there on his bed, Ned felt his pounding heart slowing down. He'd retreated to his and Ashara's room after meeting the five Northmen that had come to bring him back to the North. This was his chance to go home, and yet, why was he feeling a sense of dread at the thought of going back? Oh, how he longed for the cold winds of the North. The silence of the the nights here in Braavos paled in comparison to the quiet that one could find in Winterfell's godswood. This port city, while its people had provided Ned with a safe haven, could never compare to his home. 

His return to Westeros would no doubt be kept secret, of that he was sure. The North had never been one to boast of itself or its accomplishments. And yet, secrets grew harder to keep the longer they were kept. He didn't know how long it would be before someone outside of the North learned of his return, and when they did, Eddard had no doubt that his head would be demanded for disobeying the orders of the king. Brandon would never turn over his brother, and a new war would begin. The last one had taught the young Stark much, the most important lesson being that a right cause did not guarantee a victory in the end. He did not want to think about what may become of the North should they lose.

No, he could not return. It pained him to admit it, but the consequences were too great. For the sake of the pack, perhaps it was better for one wolf to fend for itself. He felt his eyes grow cloudy with tears, but he made no move to wipe them away, instead letting them fall as he hung his head in remorse for the choice he had to make. 

Ashara found him like that, his head held up by his hands as his tears made a small puddle on the floor. He felt the bed dip next to him as she sat down. Neither said a word as she wrapped her arms around him and lay her head on his shoulder. Silently, his tears continued to fall until they didn't. They sat for a short while more until Ned lifted his head to stare at the wall opposite him. 

"You could go with them, to your family and friends. I'll not force you to stay." His quiet voice trembled with the words. If he missed his family, he had no clue how she must be feeling. He dared not look at her as the words hung in the air, for if he did, he doubted he could stop himself from taking back his offer.

"Do you want me to leave?" Her voice was just as quiet as his. 

"No...and yes," he sighed. "I love you, and I don't want to be alone. But I also want you to be happy, even if that is without me."

"Have you considered that I am happy with you, Eddard Stark?" Her sharp tone caused him to wince and turn to face her. Her violet eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and he knew that his words had hurt her. 

"I hadn't," his confession came. Ashara brought her hand to his cheek, wiping away the damp of his tears. She then pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. What remorse he had melted away at the contact. She pulled away, her own tears beginning to fall with his. 

"I'll stay with you as long as you'll have me, dearest Ned," she promised. 

"I'd like that, Ashara." 

When the pair emerged from their room, their tears had dried and their hearts felt lighter. They journeyed back to the kitchens, where the five Northmen were waiting for Ned's answer to their offer. Upon their return, the five looked to them with proud, hopeful eyes. He almost hated that he'd be crushing those hopes, but for the sake of the North, it had to be done.

"I've given it some thought. You all humble me to have traveled this far to bring me back, but I cannot go with you. Before you start..." He sent a pointed look to Greatjon Umber, who was halfway to standing and objecting to Ned's decision. "...allow me to explain. I know that most if not all the houses in the North can be trusted to keep my return secret, but secrets always find their way into the light. When it would become known to the crown, who's to say that they won't march to war against us? The North may be able to emerge victorious, but at what cost?

No, my lords, I will not risk the lives of my countrymen just so I can return home. You honor me with your voyage, now honor my last request. Return home. See to your families and your households. Give my brother the council he will need. Winter is coming, and in winter you must look after one another. For when the snows fall and the winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. The North is my pack, and for its survival, I must become the lone wolf."

When he had finished, he watched as the men all took the time to mull over his words. Howland Reed was the first to speak, saying, "If that is your wish, then I will see it done, my lord."

"As will I," chimed in Jorah Mormont.

"Agreed," said Wyman Manderly.

Rickard hummed his approval.

All eyes turned to Greatjon, who stood and walked up to Eddard Stark. Though tall for a man, Ned doubted any man could ever match Greatjon Umber in stature. Greatjon simply bowed, and said, "As my lord wishes." Together the five lords made for the door. Aros was waiting outside, ready to see them back to their ship and send them on their way. Before they could leave, however, Howland paused at the doorway and fumbled with the small pouch around his neck. He turned and walked back to Ned, taking his hand and placing something in it. 

"May the gods watch over you, Eddard Stark." With that, the five lords left through the door and into the night. After it shut, Ned looked down in his hand and felt a small smile appear on his face at what he saw. 

"What is it?" Ashara asked, looking too at the small, red seed he held in his palm.

"A weirwood seed." He closed his hand and pressed it to his breast, looking up to the roof. "A piece of home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to stop making you guys wait so long for my updates. Again, I apologize for these long waits, but this may be the new normal for a time.


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